Dementia
by Enola
Summary: Hook gets his wish, now he gets to deal with ten traumatized consequences. Based on Fox's PP&P. Violence/angst.
1. Death and Resurrection

Chapter 1

Hook leered at the boy kneeling before him, feeling intense pleasure at seeing his nemesis helpless.  _Oh you arrogant brat, your time is up now.  I _will_ have my revenge.  "Any last words, Pan?" he sneered, testing the tip of his claw with his finger._

Peter glared at the man and tried his best to hide his fear.  Behind his back, his hands worked frantically at the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles together.  He kept his back straight and his head high, determined to remain proud and defiant until the end.  "I'm not afraid of you, you cowardly Codfish!  You can't kill me!"

"Can't I?" Hook mused thoughtfully.  "We shall see."  At the boy's snort of laughter, Hook's face flushed with rage.  "No more games, boy!  The story is over – thus perished Peter Pan!"  He swiped visciously with his claw, leaving a thin, deep gash across the boy's throat.

Peter's eyes widened in surprise as he felt the bright pain across his throat and the warm wetness running down his chest.  _No!  This isn't supposed to happen! he thought in shock, and something inside reached out in panic.  As the world drained in color and his senses dulled, his soul screamed for help.  Then he knew no more._

Hook watched in amazement as the light went out in Peter's eyes.  The small body went limp and toppled over onto its side, a pool of blood growing rapidly around it.  _I don't believe it, he thought in wonder.  _I've killed him!  Peter Pan is dead!_  Strangely, he wasn't as happy as he thought he'd be. Actually, he was quite disappointed._

"NO!" a girl's scream cut the air.  Hook looked over at the group of children tied together at the mast.  Wendy was screaming, her face white with horror, while the other boy's looked to be in varying stages of shock.

_I shouldn't have done this in front of them._  Hook had actually planned to kill them when Pan was gone, but now, seeing the trauma in their eyes and the bloody, still child lying at his feet, he felt his stomach turn.  As much as he hated Pan, he should have restrained himself as a proper gentleman should, and spared these innocent children this sight.  "Mason!  Mullins!  Put them ashore and let them go.  We quit this place tonight."

A cold wind blew, and thunderheads raced across the once clear blue sky.  From within Hook's cabin, they heard Tinker Bell's scream.  A thin bolt of lightning cut the sky, and to everyone aboard it seemed as if the forks that split from it pierced their hearts.  Hook staggered back several steps as the energy coursed through him, fighting the wave of dizziness and pain that wracked him for several seconds.  Shaking his head, he saw his men lying or sitting on the deck, shaking their heads to clear them.  The children sagged limply in their bonds.  The sky was clear again, and the wind was calm.

"Odds, bobs, what was that?" Hook growled.

"Cap'n?" Billy Jukes's voice sounded small and when Hook looked to him, he saw the boy was crying.  "Where'd Neverland go?"

The men looked around in alarm, and indeed they were in the open sea, with no land in sight.  Hook was about to answer that he hadn't the foggiest notion, when he felt a weight drop from his arm.  He looked down, frowning at the steel hook lying on the deck.  _It fell off?_

"Cap'n!  Yer hand!" Smee yelled, pointing at the arm that had worn the hook.

Hook looked down and stared in wonder at the hand affixed there, as whole and warm as if it had never been gone.  He flexed the fingers, feeling the strength there.  He touched it, and slowly the realization sank in that it was real.

"What the devil…" he gasped.  A low moan caught his attention and he looked down at the source of the sound.  Peter jerked, another moan passing his lips as he feebly pulled against the ropes.  His eyes were squeezed shut where before they had been wide open and dead.  

"He's alive?" Hook whispered in shock.  "How is it possible?"  He knelt by the boy, ignoring the blood that seeped through his pants and felt at the boy's neck, needing verification even though he plainly saw the child moved.  As he touched the small throat, Peter screamed and jerked, his struggles becoming frenzied.  _He's hurt, we have to see to him.  It struck Hook as odd that he felt concern for Pan, but too many strange things had just happened for him to care.  Quickly, Hook pulled a dagger and cut the ropes that bound Peter._

Peter's eye's flew open when he felt himself freed.  He scrambled away from the man, panic evident in his wild eyes and frantic gestures.  Crawling quickly, he backed out of the pool of blood and sat, staring at the crimson stain on the deck, then looking down at the blood soaking his clothes and covering his hands.  

"Peter," Hook called softly, but stopped short when the boy locked eyes with him.  Half of Peter's face was covered in gore, and the hair on that side of his head was matted with it.  But besides the horror of the child's appearance there was a greater horror:  Peter's eyes held no recognition, no sanity.  And then he began to scream.


	2. Blood and Insanity

Chapter 2

"Peter," Hook called again.  To say he was off balanced and confused would be a serious understatement.  In the last five minutes, his entire reality had been turned upside down, and he couldn't find his footing.  _I have my hand.  Pan was dead__.  How can he be screaming when he's supposed to be dead?  In addition to Peter's screams, he could hear the other children's cries.  They were still in shock.  Wendy and Nibs still had enough of their wits to look a bit relived at Peter's unexpected animation, but there was only confusion and terror on the faces of the other children._

"Take them to the brig and untie them," Hook called, looking at the obviously shaken gunner.  "Jukes, stay with them and keep watch.  No rough-housing, I want them calmed."  He turned to look at his bosun, "Smee, bring me water and washcloth.  Cookson, clean up the blood.  The rest of you, get this ship under control and sailing steady!"  When the men jumped to obey, he turned back to consider Peter.

The boy's cries continued, but they were softer now, his voice becoming ragged.  He kept staring at the blood, looking from the pool to his hands, occasionally touching his throat.  He ignored Hook as the man approached; instead he began trying to wipe the blood off himself.  The effect was that he just smeared it over more of his skin, which seemed to panic him further.

Hook put his hand on Peter's arm, but the boy slapped it away and continued his futile attempt to clean himself.  The captain stared at the bloody handprint on the back of his hand.  _Its__ so small…he mused._

"Here's th' water, Cap'n," Smee said softly, setting the bucket down and kneeling beside  the man.  Hook reached for Peter, grabbing his arm tightly this time.  Peter slapped his hand again, but when Hook refused to withdraw it he went wild.  He howled in panic, jerking his arm and trying to pry the fingers loose.  He kicked and writhed, and the man finally released his hold, realizing that Peter was becoming more violent.

As soon as he was free, Peter scrambled back further, stopping only when his back was pressed against the mast.  Once there, he went back to trying to wipe the blood away.

"I believe th' wee lad's lost his wits," Smee muttered.

Hook looked at the man, then back at Peter.  "I believe you're correct, for once," he answered.  Peter's single-mindedness in trying to clean himself, even when he obviously wasn't doing any good, was a testament that the boy wasn't reasoning.  _Is he merely panicked or has he truly gone mad?  He considered what it may be like, having your throat cut and dying, only to suddenly awaken alive and whole in a pool of your own blood.  "Smee, see if you can calm him down and clean him up.  He's rightfully terrorized of me."_

Peter didn't notice Smee as the man sat beside him again.  Tentatively, Smee put his hand on the boy's shoulder.  He sighed in relief when Peter continued to ignore him.  "Lemme help ya, lad," he said softly, pulling a wet rag from the bucket.  He gently took Peter's wrist and began washing away the blood on his hand and arm.  

Peter's sobs and cries subsided and he became still, staring at his hands while the man worked.  When both his hands were clean, he looked up at Smee, his eyes wide.

"Better lad?" the old man asked softly, meeting the boy's stare.  "Jus' hold still, now, and I'll get the rest off'a ya."  Peter kept staring as Smee wiped his face, not making a sound or flinching. 

Hook stayed still, watching as the bosun calmed Peter and got the blood off of the boy.  He didn't want to spark the panic again so he remained where he was.  He began to feel better when Peter's face was clean – the mask of blood had been hard to look at.  _I don't understand any of this.  Perhaps the pixie can explain it._  Tinker Bell had been locked in a jar and placed on a shelf in his cabin.  He was content to wait until Pan was secured again before he questioned her.

Smee kept talking softly to the boy, keeping him calm as he continued to clean him.  Peter let the man move him around, even standing while Smee removed his clothes (though he leaned heavily on the man for support).  Once he wore only his undershorts, he sat back down and let Smee get the last vestiges of blood off of him and out of his hair.

"All clean, lad," Smee said cheerfully when he was done.  Peter just watched him, so Smee turned to Hook.  "Whatcha want me ta do fer 'im now?"

Carefully, the Captain walked to them and squatted beside Smee.  "Pan?" he called, trying to find a spark of recognition in the boy's eyes.  There was none.  _How did he heal?  How did I heal?  Did it ever really happen?  Frowning, Hook gently touched the boy's neck, seeing now that the blood was gone the thin white scar across his throat.  At the contact, Peter finally looked away from Smee and stared at Hook.  He began giggling, the sound hesitant at first but gaining momentum quickly.  Soon the giggle became a hysterical cackle, which was even more alarming because tears were pouring from his eyes.  Peter drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, but he kept his gaze locked on Hook._

"He's insane," Hook whispered.  Smee merely nodded.


	3. Hook's Journal

Chapter 3

From the journal of Captain James Hook:

June 16th, or sometime close to that.  I have no idea why I bother trying to keep up with the date anymore.  

Two days since we last saw Neverland.

I find myself unexpectedly in the possession of ten children, nine boys and one girl.  I have no idea of what to do with them.  Things were so much simpler in Neverland:  my sole purpose was to kill Peter Pan to exact my revenge on the boy.  If the other brats got in the way, I had no compunction against killing them, but other than that they could rot for all I cared.

I have killed Peter Pan.  Whether or not the child that draws breath in his body is _still_ Peter Pan is in doubt.  Neverland has utterly vanished, along with all trace it ever existed.  Many of the supplies I recently brought aboard have vanished, and only those things that have resided on my ship for a length of time survived whatever happened.  The Lost Boys lost a good portion of their clothing, including those strange hats they affected to wear.  Fortunately, Smee has been able to alter some things to augment their remaining garments.  But of all the things that disappeared, the piece of Neverland I regret losing the most is the pixie, Tinker Bell.  She was trapped in my quarters, but when I returned to them the jar was empty.  She did not escape, the lid was still closed tightly.  Not a speck of pixie dust residue remained within the jar.  With her is gone any answers I might have gotten from her.  And I need answers.  Why do I have my hand back?  How did the boy come back to life and what in the blazes is wrong with him?  Where is the island?  Where in the Hell are we now?

I and my men would be ecstatic right now – I have my hand and we're free of that wretched island – except for these children.  If I and my men were our proper, sensible selves, I'd just heave every last one of the mudlarks overboard and be done with it once and for all!  My proper self would happily murder Pan again.  But I can't stand the looks in their eyes, and neither can a single man among my crew.  No one's even suggested that I harm any of the children.

Wendy, Nibs and Slightly seem to be the only ones not incapacitated by their trauma, and that seems to be because they have turned their attentions elsewhere, to avoid remembering.  Wendy has immersed herself in caring for the boys, a task that keeps her fully occupied.  Nibs is now the de facto leader and helps Wendy keep the younger children occupied.  The only times those two allow themselves to show signs of their distress is at night, when the smaller ones are asleep and quiet.  

Slightly and Billy Jukes are taking solace in one another.  Apparently, the two of them were friends before – a treason I haven't the stomach to punish right now.  I don't know why, but the loss the children feel is also evident in Jukes, and he is nearly as depressed as the rest of the boys.  They talk to one another, and I've released Slightly from the brig so that he can stay close to Jukes.  The two of them share duties now.  Slightly is deeply depressed and subdued, but he is in control of his faculties and aware of reality.

The "twins" only speak to one another, and they do that communication in a strange language no one on the ship understands.  They keep apart from everyone else, but will obey Wendy or Nibs.  At the best, they ignore the other boys and my men.  If a crewman presses them, they become violent.  

Curly and John, on the other hand, have quit speaking altogether.  They appear much like Pan in this respect.  They will comply with whatever Wendy or Nibs tell them to do, but they have made themselves mute, even to one another.  They are still capable of speech, Curly gave a cry when he tripped and skinned his knee, and I've heard John mutter in his dreams.

Michael and Tootles will not be separated from Wendy.  Michael wouldn't even let go of his sister's skirt for the entire first day.  Now if she isn't in sight they become hysterical.  Both boys have taken to sucking their thumbs.  

Peter… Peter is quite another story.  He does not speak.  Instead, he makes incoherent noises – grunts and moans mostly.  With no provocation he'll begin screaming, and he only responds to Smee.  He'll let me touch him, but if I hold on for too long the terrors take him.  Odd things catch his fancy.  I watched him spend an hour today staring at the light reflecting in a bucket of water.  He doesn't seem to understand anything said to him, sometimes he seems to be completely unaware of anything around him.  He does respond to tones of voice.  If I have the slightest edge to my voice, he goes into hysterics.  Today I played my harpsichord, and he laughed in the purest expression of delight I have ever seen in another human being.  He has a strong compulsion to stay clean and will become very agitated if his hands become dirty.  He will obsessively wipe them until they are clean again.  

Currently, Peter lodges with me.  He sleeps on a pallet near my bed.  He rests soundly enough, but he had walked in his sleep for both nights he's been aboard.  I keep him in leg irons during the day, he's too oblivious to be trusted to not fall over the railing.  Since the first time he wandered in the middle of the night, I've decreed that the irons remain on him at all times.  At night, his shackles are tethered to a bolt in the floor.  I did try to keep him in the brig that first night, but the other children became more upset at seeing him and Wendy asked that I take him elsewhere.  His present state keeps them agitated, so I deemed it prudent to comply with her request.  The crew won't let him sleep with them, they're afraid of him.

It is my fervent wish that Peter returns to his senses soon.  I find it hard to bear seeing my former nemesis reduced to this.  I am no fool, I know that whatever force has healed Peter Pan and revived him is also responsible for the restoration of my hand.  Caring for the boy and his friends is a small price to pay for this unhoped-for miracle.  I also can't help hoping that Peter holds the answers I am searching for.

June 23 (I suppose)

I'm usually better about keeping my journals than this.  Peter and the others are quite a handful, and I'm usually too tired to write at the end of the day.

It's been a week, and finally I've noticed progress in the nine.  Wendy was able to leave Tootles alone for nearly an hour, and he's stopped sucking his thumb as much.  I saw both John and Curly smile briefly, and I've been able to cajole John into writing.  I caught him scribbling a short poem, and it was quite good.  Perhaps writing will give him an outlet.  Slightly has been sleeping on a pallet with Jukes, and Mullins informed me that last night both boys slept in separate hammocks, though they were close together.  Given time, I am confident Slightly will fully recover. 

As I've suspected, it's more than the trauma of seeing me kill Peter that's driven them to this state, else Jukes would not be affected.  Nibs and Slightly have both described a "hollowness" inside them, as if when Neverland disappeared, a piece of their hearts went with it.  Wendy only says that she feels sad all the time and that little things frighten her.  Perhaps it is the same with Peter.  I can imagine the trauma of dying would unbalance him, but perhaps the loss of Neverland was too much for him to bear.  I seem to recall Tinker Bell often moaned that if Peter died, Neverland would die too.  Perhaps that is what happened… so what would happen if Neverland died yet Peter lived?

All of this information is second-hand.  None of the children will even look at me, and break into wails if I speak to them directly.  I think Wendy would talk to me, if I could get her away from Michael.  

Tomorrow I am going to apprentice all of them to my men.  I've left the brig unlocked and open for several days now, but only Slightly will remain outside for long.  They need tasks to distract them.  I'm dividing them like this:

**Cookson**** with Wendy and, by default, Tootles and Michael.  The kitchen is the only place I can in good conscience work a young girl.  Perhaps she'll take over and our food quality will improve.  **

**Mason with Twins.  They'd best be suited with Jukes, but given their unwillingness to communicate, I hesitate to saddle a child with that responsibility.  Mason's work should intrigue them enough to make them cooperative.**

**Starkey with John.  John is perhaps the most deeply depressed of all the boys, and Starkey's mild enough to not frighten him.**

**Jukes with Slightly.  Of course.**

**Mullins with Nibs and Curly.  Nibs is capable, and not likely to need much supervision once someone shows him the ropes.  Curly is only a little better than John, but Mullins has experience with children, despite his gruff manner he really does care.  **

**Smee**** with Peter**.  Peter only consistently responds to Smee, and the bosun is the only one with the patience to deal with him.  He's no use on deck, but he has to be constantly watched.  He's too unpredictable and he can't look out for himself right now.  

I hope this helps.  I don't know what else to do for them.


	4. Shiny Things

**Authors note:  For those of you concerned about characters being in character (especially Captain Hook), please be patient.  There is more going on than meets the eye, and there is a reason the evil Captain has grown a heart.  Its not his fault, I promise.**

Chapter 4

He watched the flashing light, fascinated with how it changed when he turned the shiny thing.  He liked bright shiny things, they made the scary darkness go away.  The nice one had left the shiny thing, so now it was his.  He touched the light with his free hand and it wasn't hot.  He giggled in delight; bright things were supposed to be hot, but this was pleasantly cool and smooth, so he explored its feel with his fingers.

He heard a soft voice, saying that word that the others said to him a lot.  He didn't like that voice, it was dark and mean, and it had hurt him.  But right now it was soft and persistent, so he finally looked up.  The dark man; the bad man.  He felt his throat sting, making him remember the red stuff again.  There was a sting in his hand and he looked down.  Red stuff on the shiny thing.  Red stuff on his hand.  He had to get it off!  Frantically he tried to brush it away, but it kept spreading.  

Hook had been highly alarmed when he saw Peter playing with the knife.  He didn't know where the boy had gotten it, and that idiot Smee had left the child unattended.  He approached the boy, smiling a bit at Peter's giggle.  Except for his occasional terrors, the boy was usually happy and easily entertained.  

"Peter?" he called.  The boy didn't respond at first, which wasn't surprising, so he kept calling until he finally looked up.  "Be a good boy and put down the knife," he said softly, keeping a smile on his face.  When Peter looked down, Hook followed his gaze.  "Oh, no.  You've cut yourself."

Quickly, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and knelt before the boy.  _Keep him distracted, or he's going to…_  Peter began screaming, frantically wiping his hands.  "Shit."

Hook took the boy's injured hand and wrapped the small cut with the handkerchief.  It wasn't deep, but the little bit of blood had been enough to set him off.  He kept his voice calm, even though he felt his anger grow at Smee's negligence.  "See Peter?  All better.  Just wipe your other hand on my coat…"  He took the boy's hand and did it for him, wiping the blood off.  "See?  It's gone.  You're okay."

For once, the boy wasn't fighting him and Hook looked up to see Peter staring at him strangely.  He smiled again.  "I'm sorry, Peter.  We should be watching you better.  I don't want you hurt."

"Hurt," Peter repeated.  He grinned suddenly, delighted at his new trick.  "HURT!" he yelled again, giggling a bit.

"Peter," Hook said softly.  This was the first word the boy had spoken in two weeks, and he felt hope rekindle in his heart.  _He sees me… he's still an idiot, but he's at least cognizant of me now._

"Pee-dur," Peter repeated, nodding and smiling.  "Pee-dur.  Hurt.  Pee-dur."  He enjoyed making his mouth change the sounds.  It was strange and the dark man looked happy.  Fun game.

"You have no idea what you're saying, do you?" Hook mused softly.  "But it's a start, I hope."  Hook looked down again to study the cut on Peter's hand and adjust the cloth so it wouldn't come off.

Peter watched, bemused, as the dark man touched his hand.  It stung, but that wasn't so bad.  Today was different, colors and shapes and sounds fit together better, instead of swirling about and scaring him.  The dark man had white hair – he wasn't so dark-looking this close up.  Peter touched the curls tentatively, a bit wary.  There was a sound he'd heard before, a sound that fit the dark man.  He didn't try to remember it; he never thought about anything, preferring to exist one moment to the next.  Thinking brought the pain.  So he petted the soft hair, enjoying the sensations of feel and sight as  they mingled together.  The sound blossomed in his mind and reflexively he spoke it, "Hook."

The dark man looked up at him quickly, squeezing his hand.  Peter felt the light sting explode into pain and fear filled him.  He pulled back with a cry, trying to escape.  The dark man let him go and he found himself in the nice man's arms.

"He spoke, Cap'n," Smee gasped, pulling Peter into his lap and letting him bury his face against his chest.  

"Aye, Smee.  If you'd been watching him, you would have known that by now."  Hook maintained his neutral voice, but his eyes blazed with fury.  "If you're careless enough to leave a knife in his reach again, I'll sheath it in your skull."

"Why do you care, Captain?" Wendy's voice cut across the deck sharply.  "You killed him, so why are you being so nice now?"

Hook turned and saw that everyone on deck was staring at him.  All of the children were present.  It was a beautiful day, and he'd decided the sunshine might perk them up.  They'd been excused from duty and allowed to play on deck.  The children were adapting, doing what they were told and settling in to their new lives.  But they tended still to be quiet and withdrawn, especially John.  Now they watched Peter and him… considering that they _never_ looked up at him, much less spoke to him, this was an improvement.  

"I've hurt all of you in a way I never intended," Hook answered sincerely.  "I killed Peter, yes, but somehow his life has been restored.  I also have my hand back.  I have no reason now to hurt any of you, and I'm not very well going to let you rot in the brig.  If we ever find civilization again, any of you that wish to leave will be allowed to.  I'll se to it personally that a good family adopts you.  And until Peter comes back to himself one day, I consider him my responsibility.  His condition is my fault."

Curly looked up at Mullins and gently tugged on his sleeve.  When the pirate bent down, the boy cupped his hands and whispered in his ear.  Mullins looked surprised and stood up.  "Th' lad wants ta know if Peter'll be alright."

Hook smiled.  _This is turning out to be a good day.  It may be babbling, but Peter spoke.  Curly opened up to Mullins.  The children don't seem as afraid of me right now._  "I think he will be fine, in time.  He was hurt worse than the rest of you, and he's withdrawn more.  We all just have to keep an eye on him and not upset him.  He needs his friends to be strong for him."

All of the children turned to look at Nibs.  The boys stared at Hook for a few moments, considering what the man had said.  Finally he nodded.  _Ever since that day, he's tried to help us.  He lets Mr. Smee take care of Peter, and he hasn't yelled at us or done anything bad.  Maybe he really has changed.  And Peter does need us… I'm his second, I have to help him.  Cautiously, leery of Hook, he walked to where Peter sat in Smee's lap, watching.  "Peter?" he called softly.  "Its me, Nibs."_

Peter stared at the boy and repeated in a lisping voice, "Nips."

Nibs grinned, ignoring that Peter mispronounced his name.  Peter mimicked his grin, enjoying the game.  One by one, all the children came by, saying their names for Peter to repeat, even those boys who had ceased to speak.  Peter had trouble enunciating, saying "Slyly" instead of Slightly, "Winnie" for Wendy, etc, but no one cared.  For the first time, Peter was relatively lucid, aware of others even if he didn't seem to understand.  But sometime after the children introduced themselves, his attention wandered and he slipped back into his mindless existence.  It was a better group of children that returned to the brig that night, and for once none of them had nightmares.

Wendy carefully sat up, making sure she didn't wake Michael or Tootles lying to either side of her.  Quietly, she crossed the cell to where Nibs lay, smiling at the empty space Curly had left for her between them.  She settled in beside Nibs, laying her head on his shoulder and letting him wrap his arms around her.  This was the only time they could devote to themselves, and they took comfort in each other until morning came.  They lay in each other's arms, content just to have the other close, occasionally whispering back and forth until sleep came. 

Slightly and Billy sat in the crow's nest, staring up at the stars.  They sat shoulder to shoulder, clasping hands.

"Slightly?" Billy whispered.  He gave a small, tentative smile when the boy turned to look at him.  "I love you."

Slightly returned the smile, feeling relief wash through him.   "I love you too, Billy."  He gasped a bit when Billy leaned into him, giving him a brief but firm kiss on the mouth.  He'd kissed Billy earlier today, and the look on his friend's face had hurt him deeply.  Billy had told him boys didn't kiss boys, and had stormed off angrily.  Slightly, in shame, had avoided him ever since.  But a little while ago, Billy had woke him and gestured for him to follow him up here.  They'd sat in silence until just now, and he was suddenly afraid.

"What's wrong, cully?" Billy asked when he felt Slightly tense up.

"I thought you were mad at me," Slightly whispered.

"No," Billy shook his head.  "I was mad at me.  But I love you, and I'm here for you."  He kissed his friend again, and felt warmth when Slightly kissed him back.  He pressed his tongue to the other's teeth, and smiled softly when Slightly opened up, allowing him access and trying awkwardly to reciprocate.  Hesitantly at first, but with increasing boldness, they let their hands wander, exploring each other gently.  


	5. Fairy Whispers

Chapter 5

The next morning, Hook wasn't surprised when he awoke to see Peter was already up.  The boy stood at the window, staring at the waves, babbling happily if incoherently.  Usually he was silent.  Perhaps he liked trying to speak.  "Good morning, Peter," Hook called as he got out of bed.

Peter didn't notice the man, didn't even register the voice behind him.  He looked at the tiny girl standing on the window sill and giggled again.

"Peter, please come back," she said softly.  "We need you."

"Hook," Peter answered, his hand going to his throat as images danced in his mind.  "Hurt Pee-dur."  He shook his head and looked back at the sparkling waves.  He didn't want to think about it.  It couldn't hurt him if he pretended it away.  There was no past, no future; there was only now.  _Pretty sparkles._

"He won't hurt you," Tinker Bell insisted, but the boy no longer saw her.  "I can't be really real without you, Peter."

"I promise I won't hurt you again, Peter," Hook said close behind him.  He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, making him turn around to face him.

Peter frowned, not liking how close the dark man was to him.  He touched the scar on his neck again.  "Hook hurt Peedur."

Hook nodded and rolled back the sleeve on his right arm.  He held the arm so the boy could see the thick scar that went all the way around it, where the sword had cut though his limb.  "Peter hurt Hook," he said in reply.

He felt fear, anger, grief.  He saw the dark man laughing at him.  The sword in his hand, cutting through flesh and bone.  Hook's screams.  The red-stuff…. Blood – it was blood.  Being tied up, the steel claw coming down.  The bright pain across his throat.  More blood… darkness… blinding pain as he reached….

"NO!" Peter screamed, thrashing.  "Nonononononono!"  The emptiness inside welled up, no longer to be ignored and he felt like his heart would die.  "Don't kill me again!  Please don't!  It hurts!  It hurts!  Make it stop, make it go away again!"

Hook stared in shock, stunned that Peter was speaking relatively coherently.  He let go of the thrashing boy, allowing Peter to back away to the end of his tether.  When he met the resistance as the chain pulled taut, Peter crumpled against the wall, sobbing and moaning, his arms wrapped around his knees.  _I reached him,_ Hook thought breathlessly.  _It upset him, but I reached him._

Peter stared at the floor, seeing the tiny girl again.  She was familiar, he could almost remember, and he didn't like it.  It hurt too much.

"Peter, you're almost there!  Come back, wake up," Tink urged.

"Hurts," Peter moaned.  The aching emptiness in his soul was too much to bear.   He wanted to die, to stay dead.  "Go 'way."

"I know it hurts," Tink said softly.  "I'm so sorry, Peter, we should have taught you.  But you have to let it hurt, and get past the pain.  Stop hiding."

Peter closed his eyes and began humming loudly, covering his ears with his hands.  Unable to see or hear the pixie, he forgot her again and let his mind slip away again into the peaceful numbness.  But the shadow of the sadness stayed with him, and after awhile he grew quiet.  He stared at his hands, feeling a little better when the red stuff wasn't there.

Hook had stayed back, keeping a close eye on the boy as he got dressed.  _I'm going to take more time with him.  I reached him once, I can do it again._

"Mornin' Cap'n!" Smee said brightly as he carried the breakfast tray to the desk.  He picked up Peter's bowl of porridge and walked to the boy.

"Let me feed him, Smee," Hook ordered, taking the bowl from his bosun.

"Cap'n?" Smee frowned.  "He don't like ya."

"We've been coddling him, letting him ignore reality.  I reached him; I got him to recognize me for a little while.  It upset him and he withdrew again, but its more progress than we've made before.  Yesterday when he cut himself, he responded to me."  Hook sat on the floor before Peter and watched the boy.  "He has to face me, he has to face reality.  When he gets too upset, you can comfort him, but otherwise I'll deal with him."

"Ya could push 'im away further, Cap'n," Smee warned, not happy with his Captain's decision.

Hook got Peter's attention and put the spoon of gruel in the boy's mouth.  "I'm not a doctor, Smee, so I don't know what's best.  But I know what's gotten results, so I'm pressing ahead with that course."  He gave Peter another mouthful of food.  The boy chewed and swallowed, but he didn't look up or acknowledge the man's presence.


	6. Purple Better!

Chapter 6

Colors.  Bright colors.  He smiled, staring at the blues and greens and yellows.  He put the stick in the yellow and stared at the end of the stick.  It was yellow now too.  He smiled and looked up at the dark man and showed him the yellow.  The man's hand closed around his wrist and pressed, making his stick touch the white square.  A yellow blot bloomed on the paper, and he laughed, loving this new game.

Hook smiled when he saw Peter's delight and relinquished his hold on the boy's arm.  Peter continued dabbing the brush onto the paper, and the Captain nodded in relief.  He'd hoped that by giving Peter some paints, he could make the boy focus on something, make him interact with his surroundings.  It seemed to be working quite well, his obvious fascination with bright things making it easier.  It had even attracted the interest of a few of the other children, so Hook had brought out more paper and brushes.  And, wonder of wonders, Peter seemed to be interacting with them too.  Tootles had actually gotten the boy to repeat the names of colors, and Peter could still identify them on his own.  Tootles was patient, and Hook decided to let him play with Peter more.

"Try a different color, Peter," Tootles suggested, holding out a brush with blue paint on it.  Peter dropped the yellow brush and took the blue one.  He made a few slashes on the paper, leaving green where the blue streaks crossed the yellow dots.  "See, Peter," Tootles smiled.  "Pretty."

"Priddy," Peter repeated, his eyes only for his paper. 

Curly sat to Peter's left, while John was facing him, the four boys sitting in a circle on the deck.  John was painting a map of Neverland, Tootles a picture of Wendy.  Curly's picture was all blacks and reds – a stick figure Hook standing over a stick figure Peter, lying in a pool of blood.  Curly would whisper to a select few:  Wendy, Mullins, and Smee.  Tootles finally could stand to be away from Wendy, provided he was always with a Lost Boy.  John still wouldn't speak at all, and his eyes were still haunted.  But he liked to write, and Hook was impressed with the stories and poems the boy turned out.  When John wasn't having duty with Starkey, Hook let him sit in his cabin and write. 

Satisfied that Peter would remain occupied for a bit, Hook turned to Smee, who stood at the helm.  "How much longer until we reach the island?"

"Few more hours, Cap'n, be weighin' anchor well afore sundown," Smee answered, glancing down at the cluster of boys and smiling.  

"Mr. Nibs?  What does it look like?" Hook called to the nest.

"I don't see any ships, Captain.  No people either," the boy called down.

"Curly!  Let go!  I want to use  the red!" Tootles yelled.  Curly just growled at him in response.

Hook looked down, frowning at the commotion.  Tootles had the small pot of red paint in his hand, and Curly had a grip on  the boy's wrist.  They tugged, fighting over the pot.  

"Gall and Brimstone, boys!" Hook snapped in irritation, "There's plenty to share!"  Both boys flinched at his tone and let go.  The post fell to the deck and the paint splattered on the wood, the paper, and the boys.

Curly looked at the paint on Peter's face and began screaming.  Tootles began crying, saying "I'm sorry!" over and over again.  John merely ripped up his map and walked away.  Peter stared fixedly at the pool of red, his face blank.

Hook closed his eyes a moment, forcing himself to calm, then called for Mullins to come get Curly.  The pirate was already on the way, and he picked his boy up, holding him close and went to take him below.

"No!" Curly yelled, struggling.  "Peter!  Peter's hurt!"

"He's not, lad.  Its just paint," Mullins reassured him. 

"Peter!" Curly called to the boy.  Surprisingly, Peter heard him and looked up.  "Are you hurt?"

Peter stared at the little boy.  _Blood… hurt… gone everything gone…. Curly's scared I'm hurt_, he suddenly thought.  "Not hurt," he said softly, trying to focus.  He held up his stick and grinned.  "Blue!  Blue good, red bad!"

Tootles stopped apologizing and stared at Peter a moment, then smiled.  He pickd up the pot of blue and poured it into the pool of red on the deck, stirring the paints together.  "Blue and red make purple.  Purple is better."

Peter and Curly stared as the red turned to purple.  Then they both began to laugh.  Curly wriggled and Mullins set him down.  He ran to sit beside Peter and touched the paint with his finger.  

Peter liked the swirls of red and blue that remained in the purple.  He put his brush in the paint and smiled.  He touched the brush to Curly's nose, grinning at the purple spot it left behind.  "Purple bedder!" he repeated happily.

Curly grinned and smeared his finger over the red splotches on Peter's face.  "Purple is better."

Hook stepped back and ignored the free-for-all that followed.  All of the children abandoned their duties to join the little party, and Hook was too relieved at the avoided disaster to care.  They smeared their hands in the paints, heedless of the colors, and began painting each other with designs and patterns.  They rolled in it, giggling and wrestling… even Peter.  Hook didn't like the huge mess they were making, but he decided it was a fair trade:  Curly was speaking, Peter didn't mind the paint on his hands, and the twins were playing with the others.  _Besides…_ he thought, _they can clean it up later._

Later, after Smee had finished giving Peter a bath, Hook was having a hard time getting the restless boy to eat. 

"A few more bites," Hook said, holding out the spoon for Peter.  

Peter shook his head and looked at the doors.  He could hear the sounds of the rest of the boys on deck, laughing as they cleaned up the paint and took their baths.  "Play!"

Hook sighed, but kept his voice calm as he got the boy's attention again.  "They have to finish bathing and eat supper too.  No more games tonight."

_No more games, boy!_  The memory flooded through him, glaring and vivid.  "The story is over," Peter said in Hook's voice, lost in the memory.  "Thus perished Peter Pan!"  He moaned and covered his face with his hands, remembering what happened next.

Hook quickly set the bowl aside and squatted before the boy.  "You're not dead, Peter.  You're alive and you're safe."

Peter looked at the man, and his eyes weren't as empty as they usually were.  "Peter hurt Hook… Hook hurt Peter… hurt _me."_

Hook nodded, taking the boy's hand in his own.  "I hurt you.  I'm sorry."

Peter struggled for clarity.  The tiny girl floated beside Hook, urging him to come back.  "Hard to think," he whispered.  "Empty inside," he moaned as he placed his hand over his heart.

"Try, Peter," Hook and the girl urged.

"Tinker Bell?" Peter whispered, finding the name for the tiny girl in the chaos of his thoughts.  

Hook frowned, but the girl brightened and smiled.  "Yes, Peter!"

Hook turned his head, looking around the room.  He'd almost heard someone, like a whisper.

"Neverland's gone," Peter moaned, tears building in his eyes.

"Aye, but your friends are still here, and they miss you," Hook answered.

"Hold on to him, Peter.  Let Hook help you," the pixie pleaded.  "You have to get better, so you can find your way back."

"It hurts, Tink."

"It will fade," she urged.  "Hold on to him, to anything you can."

Hook looked around.  He'd definitely heard something then.  "Tinker Bell?" he called.  

Tink glanced at the man, smiling as she realized he could hear her too.  "I can't stay Peter.  It tires us both.  But it's getting easier to reach you.  Keep fighting," Tinker Bell faded and was gone.  

But Peter's tenuous grip on reality didn't fade with her.  He looked at Hook, shaking with fear and confusion.  He remembered Hook cutting him, knew he'd died.  Everything after that was a maze of colors and sounds, with a few, surreal spots of lucidity.  And in those lucid moments he remembered Hook and Smee taking care of him.  "Captain!  Help me!" he whispered, tightening his grip on the man's hand.

"Anything you need, Peter.  Tell me how to help you."

Peter stared, trying to think.  The void inside him ached, and he'd give anything to make the emptiness go away.  "Hold me," he said quietly.  He didn't care who this was, he needed something solid to hold onto.  He reached for the man, wrapping his arms around Hook's neck.

Hook was surprised, but he let the boy cling to him.  He put his arms around the child and sat in a chair.  Peter cried softly, and Hook sat still, occasionally patting him on the back.  After awhile, the boy stilled, deeply asleep.  Hook carried him down to the brig.

Most of the children were asleep, but Wendy and Nibs were cuddled together, whispering.  _If those two were a few years older, I'd have to be concerned._  He called softly, getting their attention.  When they sat up, he carefully stepped over the pallets and knelt beside them.

"Can you make room for Peter?" he asked.

"Is it safe?  He isn't going to wander off, is he?" Nibs asked in concern.  

"I don't think so.  He talked to me.  He's getting better, and I think it will help if he's around you more, now.  That empty feeling you have inside is worse in him, and he's just now letting himself feel it."

The girl and boy moved apart and lay on their sides.  Hook laid Peter between them and they put their arms around him, snuggling close.

"Thank you, Captain," Wendy whispered, "for bringing him back."

Hook nodded and pulled the blankets over them.  "Go to sleep.  I'll come for him in the morning."


	7. Peter's Return

Chapter 7

He awoke with a start, the strange dream already fading away.  He was warm and  there were arms around him.  He turned his head and saw the girl.  He looked the other way and there was a blonde boy.  "Winnie, Nips," he whispered.  That wasn't quite right, so he tried harder.  "Wendy, Nibs."

"Good morning, Peter," the girl murmured softly, raising up a bit to look at him.  "I'm glad you remember us."

"Where?" he asked, looking around the dim room at the other sleeping children.  A single lantern hung from the ceiling, giving light to those who were afraid of the dark.

"The brig, but the door's not locked," Nibs mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.  "How do you feel?"

Peter frowned, repeating the boy's words to himself until he understood.  "Fuzzy."  He touched his heart and sighed, "Gone."

Wendy hugged him tightly.  "Yes, we all feel it.  Empty and sad, all the time.  It gets better, if you hold on to someone.  Everything isn't so hopeless anymore, and we can laugh now."  She glanced worriedly at John, lying next to Twins.  _Except him._ Even playing in the paint, he only smiled a bit.  But he whispered to me… that's something at least.__

Peter put his arm around Wendy, hugging her back. He looked at Nibs, "You hurt?"

The boy nodded and joined in the hug.  After awhile they lay back down, spooned together with Peter in the middle, Wendy's back to Peter's front, Nib's front to Peter's back, arms tight around each other.  They whispered softly until they dropped off to sleep once more.

The next morning, Hook was on his way to the brig to collect Peter when he was brought up short by a noise.  He paused, frowning, and peered into the common room.  All the other men were at breakfast, but Slightly and Billy still lay on a pallet.  Hook knew that sometimes, if Slightly had a nightmare, he and Billy would share a pallet.  What he saw now made him decide that practice was going to stop.

Slightly lay on his back, Billy bent over him, kissing the boy in a way that was _not brotherly.  Shaking his head in irritation and trying to not get flustered or angry, Hook strode into the room.  He nearly lost it when he saw where Billy's hand was going.  And, unfortunately for both boys, they were too engrossed in each other to notice the very large, very irate captain approaching. _

"Tell me, Mr. Jukes," Hook growled, smiling in grim satisfaction when he saw the boy's jump in alarm and break apart, "is there a reason you are molesting that boy?"

Billy's mouth just opened and closed several times as he tried to find his voice.  "C-C-Cap'n?" he stuttered.  He was a very pale shade of grey.

"Tell me why I shouldn't have you flogged for molesting Mr. Slightly?" Hook growled.  "You are a member of my crew, and I've considered you a young man for quite awhile.  He is a boy."  Advancing on the shaking gunner, he lifted the boy and glared at him menacingly.  He heard a gasp and glanced over at Slightly, and the sight of the boy made his anger vanish like smoke.  The blonde boy was pale, and there was stark terror in his eyes as he backed away, pressing himself against the wall.  Hook set Billy down and turned to the other boy, "Slightly?" he called, a bit alarmed.  Slightly screamed and ran, nearly knocking Mullins down as the man entered the cabin.

Hook took a deep breath, cursing himself for handling this badly.  _Of course he's still afraid of me… they all still are.  They've been warming up because they haven't seen me angry.  He looked at Billy, frowning.  "Slightly, you, and I will have a talk later.  Go find him, and calm him down.  I'm not going to hurt either of you over this."_

Billy glanced at Mullins and hung his head.  "Aye, Cap'n.  I'll find 'em."  Without looking at the other pirate, he ran to the crow's nest, where he knew Slightly was most likely to have hidden.

"Cap'n?" Mullins asked, not liking the look on Billy's face, and more than a little concerned about Slightly.  "What happened?"

Hook shook his head.  "If Mr. Jukes wishes to discuss it with you, that's his prerogative.  Now, come help me wake the boys."

When they got to the brig, Nibs, Peter, and Wendy were still spooned together, though, as usual, Nibs was already awake.  "Were there any problems with Peter?" Hook asked softly, wanting to ascertain the situation before he woke the children.

Nibs raised his head a bit, but kept his arm around Peter.  "No, sir.  Peter woke up and he actually talked to us," he couldn't suppress his smile.  "But he had a bad dream later, and he's been crying in his sleep a lot."

"If you didn't sleep well, you and Wendy may remain in bed awhile longer," Hook offered.  "Since we're anchored, there's not as much to do right now."

"I'm fine," Nibs replied, finally sitting up and stretching.  "I'll get everyone up and send them to breakfast."

"Let me take Peter first," Hook told him, stepping into the cell.  As carefully as he could, he lifted the boy away from Wendy, but he still managed to wake her.  Wendy startled at being awakened, but she managed to stifle her cry.  "My apologies, Wendy.  I was trying to be careful."

Wendy nodded and glanced at Peter.  "He's awake, too."

Hook looked down and saw Peter's eyes were open, his expression blank.  Hook snapped his fingers, but Peter didn't even blink.  "He's regressed.  Give him time and I'm sure he'll come back to stay soon."  Hook stood, holding Peter in one arm and helping Wendy to stand with his free hand.  "Breakfast is ready, my dear, please wake the others and go eat."

"Yes, Captain," Wendy and Nibs chimed softly, taking another long look at Peter, then at each other, before beginning their rounds of waking the boys.  

Hook took the boy back to the cabin, catching a glimpse of Billy and Slightly along the way.  The two boys were standing beside the mast, hugging, and Slightly's face was red from crying.  When the blonde saw Hook carrying Peter, he buried his face in Billy's shoulder but he didn't run away.  _Yes, I need to talk to both of them._

Once in his cabin, he tried unsuccessfully to get Peter to eat.  The third time Peter let the porridge dribble out of his mouth instead of swallowing, Hook felt his patience slip several notches.  "What is _wrong_ with you?" he growled.  "You spoke last night!"  He put the bowl aside and tried to calm as he wiped the food off of Peter's face.  Frustration overwhelmed him and he fought the urge to shake the child, to slap him and try to knock him back into his senses.  

Fearing he'd lose control for a second time today, Hook decided to let Smee feed Peter when he came in.  He went to his harpsichord and began to play, letting the music soothe his frayed nerves.  Playing with his hook had always highlighted what Peter Pan had taken from him.  Playing now showed him how much he'd regained, and he once again thanked whatever power had granted him this.

He played for a few minutes before Peter settled on the bench beside him.  The music called to the boy, helping him focus on something and yet still hide from the pain.  He watched in fascination as the man's hands flowed across the keyboard, giggling a bit in happiness.  Hesitantly, he put his hand out and pressed a key, jerking back at the discord it struck with Hook's music.  

Hook smiled and changed tunes, playing a simple one-handed ditty, letting Peter watch what keys he pressed.  Peter randomly pecked a few keys, laughing at the game.  He watched intently, finding the pattern and making his hand mimic it.  

"Close," Hook said softly, using his other hand to reposition Peter's hand on the keyboard.  "Start with C."  He kept playing and laughed with Peter when they played in time, Peter mimicking the ditty flawlessly.  Letting the boy play alone, Hook idly contemplated if he could perhaps teach the boy to play something more complicated.  Peter ran through the song twice more, then his fingers faltered and his head bowed.  Balling up both hands into fists, Peter slammed them into the keyboard. 

"Why?" the boy asked softly.

Hook tilted Peter's chin up and saw that awareness had returned for now.  "Why what, child?"

Peter stared at the man in confusion, grasping for the words that danced in his mind.  "Why… here?"  He heard the tiny voice whispering to him, helping him find the words he needed, helping him focus.  "I died."

Nodding, Hook replied, "Yes, but you live now."

Peter frowned, the ideas conflicting in his mind.  "But… you killed me.  Blood… my blood… everywhere."

Hook paused a moment, then nodded his head again.  "Yes, I killed you.  Now I take care of you."

Peter shook his head, tears of frustration welling up.  "Hard… to think,"he grasped at the air with his hands, trying to capture the faint girl that floated there.

Hook knelt on the floor so he could look Peter in the eyes.  "Focus on me.  Concentrate.  Tell me how to help you."

"Why?" Peter moaned, "Why am I here?" he felt the ache in his heart, and it hurt so much he could barely stand it.

"I don't know," Hook brushed away a tear that trickled down Peter's cheek.  "You came back, my hand came back.  Even after all these weeks, I still don't know what happened."

"Weeks?" Peter echoed, stirrings of alarm rising in him.  "Where was I?"

"I don't know, but you're back now.  You were too hurt, I think, to keep your sanity."  Hook pulled out a handkerchief and continued to wipe Peter's face.  "But now you've had enough time, you can face it now."

Peter nodded as more tears fell.  "It hurts.  I want Wendy!  Where's Tink?  She's hiding from me!"  He began to wail as he looked around, trying to find the small pixie he'd almost seen earlier.  "Tink!  I wanna go home!"

Hook pulled the boy to him, ignoring the feeble resistance Peter put up.  "You can't go home.  I'd carry you myself if you could.  Neverland is gone, Peter, and so is Tinker Bell."

"I know," Peter moaned.  "Everything's gone… it hurts!  Why can't I stay dead?"  He shook and clutched Hook's coat tightly, desperately holding to something, anything.  "If I was dead, maybe I could go home."

"This is home now, Peter," Hook said, pausing at Peter's strangled scream, then continued.  "For as long as you want it to be, this is home.  When we find civilization, any of you that wish to stay may do so.  The rest I will find homes for, mothers and fathers to adopt you."

Peter continued to cry, wishing he could fall back into the nothingness that had kept him safe until now.  But the oblivion eluded him.  After awhile he calmed and hung his head in defeat.  "You won.  You got your hand back and you've taken everything from me."  He closed his eyes tightly.  "I wish I'd stayed dead."

Not knowing what else to say or do, Hook sat still and held Peter.


	8. Catching Up

Chapter 8

Peter sat on the harpsichord bench, idly tapping the little ditty on the keyboard.  Behind him at the desk sat Hook and John, going over a story John had written.  Peter tried not to listen as Hook read it aloud; the story was rather sad and he was confused and depressed enough as it was.  _Everything's wrong, he thought in despair.  John wasn't speaking much, and when he did it was so softly that Peter couldn't understand him.  That wasn't like John at all… John always liked to speak loud, always liked to act like a grown up that knew everything.  _

Peter could feel the numb oblivion hovering nearby, but he kept his attention on the song, the effort of remembering it and the repetition keeping him focused.  His friends needed him… _No, Peter thought suddenly and the tune faltered.  _They don't need me.  They've done fine without me for weeks now, while I've been as useful as a baby.  Everything that was wonderful and special in me is gone… no one needs me._  The oblivion came closer and he didn't resist it.  _

"I need you, Peter," the chiming whisper called to him.

"Go away, Tink," Peter answered, "you aren't real."

"I know…" Tink answered wistfully, "but I can be again.  You just have to get better, get stronger again.  Please, Peter, don't give up."

"I want to go home, Tink," he whispered, focusing on the ditty again, pushing the oblivion away.

"You will, I promise," the voice faded away, "Just stay strong."

Hook rubbed his head in annoyance and glanced up at Peter.  He'd been sitting there all morning, tapping out that song.  It was grating on the Captain's nerves, and he was sick of hearing it.  "Please stop playing that, Pan," he called for the fourth time in the past hour.  Once again, the boy didn't answer and didn't stop.  The last strand of Hook's frayed nerves snapped, and he slammed his fist onto the desk top.  "I said stop, Pan!"

John squeaked and jumped, his mouth and eyes wide in fear.  Peter also jumped and the music came to a jarring halt.  He crossed his arms, hugging himself tightly and began rocking back and forth on the bench, trying not to cry.  He lost the battle in moments.

John stood and grabbed his story, the backed away from Hook slowly.  "Please don't kill him again, Captain," he murmured, making his way to Peter.  He froze in panic when Hook stood.

"I'm not going to kill him," Hook snapped.  He forced himself to calm, realizing he was making things worse when John began shredding the papers in his hands.  "Don't," he said soothingly, holding his hand out to John.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."

"Make Peter feel better," John said, but he stopped ripping the papers.

Hook sighed, looking from John to the boy rocking on the bench.  "I'll try.  Go sit and work on something.  I'll help you in a bit if you need me."  When John nodded and sat back at the desk, Hook knelt by the bench and took stock of the situation.  That Peter was regressing was obvious.  His eyes were wide, staring at nothing, and neither his rocking nor his tears had ceased.  Hook put his hand on Peter's shoulder, halting his compulsive rocking and forced the boy to look at him.

"I'm sorry, Peter.  How about I teach you another song, so you can play something different from time to time?"  He wiped the tears from the boy's cheeks.

Peter stared at Hook and repeated the words until he understood, then nodded blankly at the man.  He turned back to the keyboard, moving over to let Hook sit on the bench with him.  He was uncomfortable being this close to his murderer, the memory of dying still vivid in his mind.  He kept his arms crossed and tried to make himself as small as possible.  But as Hook began tapping out a different tune, he found himself relaxing.  Tentatively, he reached out to copy it, but drew back in fear as he touched the keys.

"It's alright, son," Hook reassured him when he saw the boy's reaction.  Peter reached out again and began to play, watching the man's hand intently.  After only two tries he had the tune perfectly.  _He's an amazingly fast learner.  He could be a musical prodigy.  I wonder if his potential is limited to mimicry or if he could write his own music one day? _

 "Wonderful, Peter," he said with a smile.  "Would you like to learn to play with two hands?"  To illustrate, he put both his hands on the keyboard and played a few measures of one of his favorite pieces.

Peter smiled a bit in return and looked up.  "Can I… would you…" his smile faltered and fear crept into his eyes again.  "Never mind," he said quickly, looking down again.

Hook put his hand on the boy's shoulder.  "What would you like, Peter?"

"Would you play, like you did this morning?" Peter asked meekly.  "Listening helps… helps me think… makes the darkness go away."

Hook nodded and kept his smile in place, but Peter's tone and the way he sat huddled on the bench worried him.  _Give him time.  He's still coming back._  "Aye, boy.  I'll play for you.  If you want to try to learn, I'll teach you to play."  So Hook played until lunch came a half and hour later.  John wrote and Peter listened, moving his hands in the air on an imaginary keyboard.  When they broke for their noon meal, Peter fed himself for the first time since that terrible day.

Later that afternoon, Peter sat in the chair Mason had put on the deck for him and furtively watched the men and children go about their work.  Everything was so strange, everything was so _wrong, it only made the ache in his heart throb worse.  His Lost Boys were lost to him.  They went about their duties obediently, working shoulder to shoulder with the pirates.  The lights in their eyes were gone, that special spark that marked them as children of Neverland.  _

He stared at Slightly as he helped Billy Jukes polish Long Tom.  Slightly seemed a bit taller, a little older, and Peter heard Tink whisper, "He's decided to grow up."

"What happened to us, Tink?" he asked the invisible pixie, but she didn't answer.

Slightly looked up when he heard Peter's voice and he tried to smile at his former leader.  "Do you need anything, Peter?" he asked nicely.  Peter looked at him strangely before looking down, shaking his head 'no'.

"Yer Captain seems better," Billy observed from close beside Slightly, "but he's still lost."

Slightly looked at Billy and lowered his voice, "My captain is your captain, Billy.  I'm staying with you, no matter what."

"Even if we find Neverland again?" Jukes mused.  "I won't ask you to leave that behind, cully."

"You don't have to," Slightly answered.  "I love you."  He smiled when Billy's hand briefly closed over his own before returning to cleaning the cannon.

"I think its time for our little talk," came Hook's voice from behind them.  "I want the two of you in my cabin.  Have a seat there and wait for me."

Both boys froze, Slightly's skin taking a corpse-like pallor.  He was too terrified to scream when Hook's hand closed upon his shoulder, but he very nearly fainted.  

"Slightly," Hook said softly, seeing the child's reaction, "I'm not going to harm or punish either of you.  I just need to discuss some things with the two of you before you get yourselves into trouble.  Now calm down and take a deep breath."  He waited while Slightly complied, keeping a steadying hand on the boy until he thought enough of the child's color was back.  "Now, go wait for me," he ordered, giving him a final pat on the back.

Peter stared in confusion at the two boys as they walked past.  Slightly and Billy looked like they'd been caught doing something bad, and were expecting to be punished.  Slightly was crying.  When his friend glanced up at him in passing, the blonde boy turned crimson for some reason and ran to the cabin, Billy close behind him.  _What did they do wrong? Peter wondered, worried._

"Something grown-ups do," Tink's whisper answered sadly.  "Hook thinks they're too young and he wants to tell them to stop."

"Oh," Peter said simply, too engrossed in watching Hook approach to think much about what Tink said.  He stared at the man as he squatted before him.  

"Smee's ashore with Cookson, and I need to go talk to those two," Hook explained to the boy.  "Will you be alright alone for a little while?  The other men will come if you call, but everyone's too busy to keep a close eye on you."  He'd considered making the boy accompany him to the cabin, but quickly dismissed the idea.  Explaining sex to his gunner and a Lost Boy was bad enough.  Explaining sex to Peter Pan was just wrong on too many levels.  Peter hadn't lapsed again since this morning, but Hook felt it was still too soon to declare him recovered.

Peter stared at his feet.  "I'm okay.  You mad at them?"

Hook chuckled.  "I was, but not now."  _But I will be very put out if they've gone too far._

Peter rattled the shackles on his feet.  "You let me out?  Not fair, nobody else a prisoner."

Hook considered for a moment.  _He's better, but he's not well.  He still can't even speak properly.  If he were to relapse while I'm gone, he could hurt himself._  "You aren't a prisoner, Peter.  These are to keep you safe.  I can't let you out just yet."

Peter hugged himself, disappointed.  He stared at a button on Hook's coat.  "Please?" he asked so softly that Hook almost didn't hear him.

"When I come back out, I'll release you for awhile," Hook compromised, trying to reassure the boy.  The distant look in Peter's eyes was alarming.

Peter blinked and looked up.  "Okay," he answered, smiling a bit.  He felt something warm inside, something that made the ache ease up.  _Hope… he mused, recognizing the feeling.  He'd missed feeling hope, it was nice.  He watched Hook disappear into his cabin, then turned to watch the boys on the deck.  _If I can get better, I can make them better too._  He didn't know how, he just knew it was so, and the hope swelled inside him._

Unseen and unheard beside him, Tink recognized the change in Peter and felt joy.  "Soon, Peter," she whispered.  "Soon you'll find your happiness again, and your faith in things unseen.  Then you'll see us again."


	9. The Talk

Chapter 9

Hook sat at his desk and stared at Billy and Slightly, who were seated across from him.  After a few thoughtful moments, he turned his attention to the dark boy and asked, "How far have the two of you gone?"

"Gone?" Slightly repeated blankly.  "Gone where?"

Billy snickered and Hook frowned at them both.  "Have you had sex?"

"Sex?" Slightly repeated again, blinking.  "Is that like having cake or something to eat?"

Billy choked on his laughter, and the utterly confounded look on the Captain's face made it impossible for him to breathe.  _Oh, cully, I knew ya were clueless.  I didn't realize you were completely naive.  His laughter stopped suddenly when Hook glared at him._

"So, Mr. Jukes," Hook grated, "You _have been taking advantage of an innocent."  Hook wasn't happy with that thought; Billy was too young to know such things himself, much less teach them to a Lost Boy._

Billy gasped in shock, and then his eyes narrowed in anger at Hook.  "I'd _never hurt Slightly!  We've kissed and touched and that's it."_

"I kissed Billy first," Slightly interjected, taking up for his friend.

Hook nodded at Slightly, but kept most of his attention on Jukes.  "Hurt, Billy?" he echoed the boy's words, concerned by Jukes's choice in using them.  "I never said anything about hurting him."

"Sex hurts," Billy said sullenly, "I don't wanna hurt him.  Just touching is nice, it makes the emptiness inside go away for a little while.  And I always ask him before I do anything."

"Billy, have you ever had sex?" Hook pressed.  _Surely Mullins would have warned me… unless he__ is the one…  He felt cold anger bloom in his gut when his gunner nodded without meeting his eyes.  "Who?" Hook asked, his tone steely.  "One of my crew?"_

"No!" Billy jumped.  "No way.  Robert would castrate 'em!"  He still wouldn't meet Hook's eyes, but he smiled a bit when Slightly reached over to take his hand.  "My old ship's quartermaster caught me alone in a cargo hold once.  I don't remember much, 'cept that he nearly killed me and that it was the worst pain I ever felt in my life… even getting lashed didn't hurt so much."

Slightly stared at Billy in shock.  He didn't know what that man had done to Billy, but he did understand that Billy had almost died.  The pain in his friend's face alarmed him.

"May I assume the cur was punished for this?" Hook asked, his voice shaking in fury.

Billy nodded.  "The ship's surgeon save me, told the Cap'n what had happened to me.  When I woke up, I told 'em who did it and they keel-hauled him to death."

"Good," Hook answered, his anger abating a bit.  "Now, why did Mullins keep this from me?"

"I never told 'em," Billy scuffed the floor with his shoe.  "I wanted to tell him, but I'm scared he'll hate me.  Robert thinks that when two men have sex, they're evil.  I don't want him to hate me; until Slightly, he was the only friend I had."

Hook nodded.  "You should tell him, Billy.  Having someone that understands to talk to will help you.  He won't hate you, I promise.  Mullins may be an ignorant, superstitious lummox, but he'd never blame you for what happened.  You were raped, Billy, and it wasn't your fault."  Billy began crying, shaking his head, and Hook gestured to Slightly that it was okay to comfort his friend.  The blonde nodded and hugged Billy, and after a few minutes the gunner had calmed himself sufficiently.  

"If you don't tell him, I will," Hook told Jukes.  "I made it his duty to be your guardian, Billy, when he decided to take up for you your first days aboard."  When Jukes hunched his shoulders and shook his head, Hook continued, "I won't tell him about you and Slightly, but he needs to know what happened to you on your old ship."

Billy sighed and looked up.  "I know.  I just can't tell him, I get scared and embarrassed, and I can't talk.  I've tried before."  The boy felt reassured by the strange look Hook gave him, and it only served to reinforce how vastly different this man was from the pirate that had killed Peter Pan.  _We're all different._  

"Alright, then." Hook decided, feeling more dread added to the large quantity that constantly gnawed at him.  The prospect of telling Robert Mullins that his charge had been molested was not appealing, but if Billy was right and the pirate did react badly to the news, Hook knew he could beat some sense into the man.  _I always have enjoyed giving that damned American an attitude adjustment.  He focused his attention on Slightly.  "What exactly have you and Jukes done together?"_

Blushing furiously and stuttering, Slightly explained.  When he was done, Hook felt his insides unknot and relief flooded through him.  They'd kissed and done mild petting so far, just experimentation really.  "That's as far as it needs to go.  If the two of you decide you want this close friendship to become a sexual relationship, you'd both better be a good three or four years older.  Jukes, if you _don't want Mullins to know, you'd do well to not fondle each other in the common rooms.  If I hadn't caught you this morning, Mullins would have."  Billy paled and nodded.  "The two of you will __not share a hammock or a pallet again.  If I catch you even holding hands on duty, you won't see each other for a week.  Off duty is your own time, but I forbid you to have sex.  If you decide its something you want to do, I strongly urge you to come speak with me first.  It'll save you both confinement and beatings."_

"Now," Hook took a breath.  "Billy, I know that man hurt you, but sex isn't supposed to hurt."

Billy shrugged.  "I know all about sex with a woman, the crew talk about that all the time.  But when I asked about sex with a man, they looked at me funny and then started making awful jokes."

"I'll save you both some pain and explain…" Hook frowned as he registered what Billy had said.  "What _have_ you heard about sex, boy?"

Billy grinned mischievously, relieved that the conversation was no longer focused on his terrible experience.  He'd managed a long time ago to put it behind him and bury the memory, and aside from a few nightmares he had been successful.   Knowing that Slightly was in for a revelation and guessing Hook's reaction to what he was going to say, his grin widened and he proceeded to elaborate.

Peter jumped when the door to Hook's cabin flew open and the two boys ran out, giggling.  Hook's voice roared from within, calling for Mason, Mullins and Starkey to get inside.  As soon as the adults on deck were gone, Nibs looked at the two laughing boys.

"What did you do?" he asked accusingly, but his eyes held a glint of laughter.

Peter leaned forward, "Yeah, what did you do to old Codfish?"

Everyone glanced at Peter in surprise, smiling when they saw how his eyes glittered.  Billy couldn't stop giggling, so Slightly spoke up.

"Billy slightly embarrassed the Captain by knowing too much about something that's a secret."

"Secret?" Peter echoed, his interest burning hot.

Slightly faltered and looked at the other children on deck.  He'd never felt more unlike them than he did right now.  "It's slightly a grown-up secret, and if you hear it you're ten steps closing to being a grown-up too."

Peter and the other boys backed up in alarm.  "I'm sorry," Peter whispered, seeing the blonde boy in a new way.  Sadness filled him and the ache welled up again.  "I'm so sorry Slightly, its all my fault."  He began to shake as his memory tickled him, and the images filled him with guilt and pain.  "I should'a stayed dead… but Hook was going to kill you and I was scared, and I pulled and pulled and I hurt you all and I'm sorry…" he began to babble as the void loomed closer.  He became hysterical, his words turning to a garbled mixture of human and fairy made indecipherable by his sobs.  Reality blurred as colors and sounds began to twist around him, and he tried to scream for help.

Slightly and Nibs knelt before Peter in alarm.  Their friend had gone strangely silent, but his mouth continued to move in speech.  His eyes were glazing over and his skin had gone cold.  

"Peter!" Slightly called, grabbing the boy by the arms.  "Wake up, Peter!  It's not your fault, its Hook's fault."

Nibs took one of Peter's hands and held it tightly.  "Peter, what's wrong?  Please don't leave us again!"

"We need you, Peter.  _I_ need you," Slightly continued.  "I'm not a grown-up yet!"

Slowly, the world calmed and the void receded.  Peter blinked and saw Nibs and Slightly there, his oldest friends, and beyond them he saw the other children were crowded close.  "You need me?" he whispered, responding to the two boys whispered reassurances to him.  He reached out to them, and Slightly enveloped him in a hug, pulling him from the chair to sit in his lap.  Nibs joined in the hug, his arms surrounding both boys.  Surprisingly, Billy joined in next and was soon followed by all the children on deck.  They sat still and quiet together, just showing one another their love and receiving the comforted they needed.  No matter what had been taken from them, they still had each other.

A few minutes later, Mason and Starkey came out on deck, flushed from being chewed out by Hook for telling bawdy tales in the presence of Billy Jukes.  They'd been told in no gentle terms that if any other child overheard their stories, they'd be scraping barnacles off the ship with their backsides.  

When the two pirates saw the quiet group-hug on deck, they stopped and stared in confusion.  They could hear Peter crying in the middle of the huddle, and they realized with alarm that the boy had been left unsupervised.  Knowing all too well how touchy the children were, they opted to stand aside and let the kids break apart on their own.  

Several more minutes passed and a very red-faced Mullins stormed out on deck.  "Billy!" he called angrily, wanting to straighten things out between himself and the boy.  It hurt him to know that Billy had kept such a secret from him, and that the boy mistrusted him so much that he'd been afraid to tell him.  He looked up when Starkey hissed at him to be silent, and he saw the strange scene on the deck.  He watched for a moment, then turned around and stuck his head in the doorway of the cabin.  "Cap'n Hook?  Something on deck ya should see."

"Boys?" Hook called when he observed the group-hug.  At his call, the children seemed to shake themselves, and then they began to break the embrace one at a time.  The last left were Slightly and Peter, and the blonde boy looked at Hook in desperation.  Peter's arms were still locked around him and he didn't know if he should let go.

"Peter says this is all his fault," Nibs explained.  "He blames himself for Slightly growing up and he says he didn't mean to hurt us."

Hook went to the two boys and checked on Peter.  The youth looked at him and his eyes were aware, but tired and sad.  "Let me go, Captain," he asked softly.

Hook pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the shackles on the boy's feet.  Peter sighed and closed his eyes.  His body relaxed and he lay limply in Slightly's arms.

"Let me have him," Hook ordered as he pulled Peter from Slightly.

"What's wrong with him?" Nibs asked.

"I'll let you know when I find out," Hook promised, then carried Peter to his cabin. 


	10. Save Me

Chapter 10

Warmth.  He was warm and comfortable.  Safe.  The arms enfolding him promised protection.  He sighed, smiling in contentment and nestled closer to the one that held him, using the strong arm as a pillow.  The other's breathing quickened as he awakened, and Peter felt the body shift a bit.

"Peter?" a deep voice murmured.  

Peter stiffened and he jerked fully awake, alarmed when he realized the one he was snuggled against was Captain Hook.  "Yes?" he whispered, afraid.

Hook smiled in relief.  Peter had been out for several hours, ever since the group-hug on deck.  "We've been worried," Hook told him softly.  "We were beginning to fear we'd lost you again."

Peter tried to roll away a bit, but he froze when Hook's arms tightened around him briefly.  "Where am I?"

"You're in my bed," Hook explained, hearing the tremor in the boy's voice.  "Wendy watched you all day, and we couldn't wake you.  She was afraid to let you sleep with the others, so I kept you here.  I didn't trust you to not sleepwalk again, and I didn't want to have to chain you back up.  I decided to put you in my bed, so that you'd wake me if you tried to get up."

"Oh," Peter murmured.  "I sleepwalk?"

"You have at times, but not every night.  The first night you did it, you nearly fell into the sea, so I kept you in chains to keep you from wandering off."

"You've been taking care of me," Peter mused, thinking back.  Everything was clear now, his thoughts were calm and he could understand.  "You and Smee, all along, making me feel better, taking care of me…"  He frowned a bit.  "Why are you hugging me?"

Hook chuckled, relieved.  Peter was here, completely here.  "I was content to let you have half the bed, but you kept rolling over.  Every time I moved to give you room, you rolled closer to me.  So I let you get close, because if I move over any more, I'm going to fall out of my bed.  You wouldn't lie still until I held you."

Peter rolled away again, and this time Hook let him go.  He stared at the man in the dim light.  "Now you have more room."

Hook moved away from the edge of the bed and lay on his back.  "It's still early, boy.  Go back to sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

Peter lay on his side, his back against the wall.  "Why?" he whispered softly.  "Why are you different?  Are you trying to trick me?"

"No tricks, Peter," Hook stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.  "I did something terrible, and I hurt you and your friends.  Whatever brought you back changed me somehow, and I'm not talking about my miraculous healing.  I decided that helping you and the other children was a fair price for the restoration of my hand."

Peter nodded, understanding enough to be satisfied for now.  "Good night, Captain," he said, closing his eyes.

"Good night, Pan," Hook answered, beginning to drift off again.

Long minutes passed and Peter opened his eyes to watch Hook.  He thought the man was asleep, but he wasn't sure.  _I can't sleep,_ he thought, frustrated.  He was afraid, worried for himself and for his friends.  He'd never thought much about the future, content to let things come in their own time.  But now the future loomed before him and he felt the anxiety gnaw at him.  How long would Hook let them stay?  Would they have to grow up?  What if the pirate's hate came back and he tried to kill them again?  Where could they go, and what would happen to them?  Peter hugged himself, his fear making the void approach again.  He stifled a moan, trying to not start crying.  He hated crying, and he hated himself for doing so much of it lately.  But he hurt inside, and he couldn't find anything in his life to _not cry about.  _

"Peter? What's wrong?" Hook's sleepy voice called to him.

"I'm scared," Peter whispered, and with that admission the floodgates opened and he could no longer stop his tears.  He remembered that when he'd awakened he'd felt safe and warm.  Desperate to feel that security again, needing it more than he needed air, he moved to lie beside Hook.  He laid his head on the man's shoulder and buried his face in the man's nightshirt, his body shuddering with the force of his sobs. 

Hook was surprised, but he moved to hold the boy, keeping him close while Peter cried himself out.  The storm was intense but brief, and soon the boy's breathing calmed and he turned to lay with his back pressed against Hook's side.

"Feel better?" the man asked.

"Yes," Peter sighed.  He adjusted a bit, snuggling close and wrapping his arms around the muscular arm draped over him.  "I don't understand; I just know that you won't hurt me, and that I'm safe here.  It's like I can hear Tink sometimes, and she's telling me to trust you.  Please, I want to be safe… everything hurts too much to face it alone.  You're my murderer, but you can save me.  Please don't let me go."

"I won't," Hook said softly as he moved to get more comfortable.  He drew the child closer and curled around him protectively, smiling when he felt the boy relax.  _I don't understand why he feels like this, but it makes it easier.  "I'll protect you, Peter, and if there's anything you need, I'll give it to you.  I promise."_

_From the Journal of Captain James Hook_

August, the day escapes me without a fairy to consult, but I am sure it is mid August.

I haven't written in this journal for so long I wonder why I even bother with it now.  But I've been busy, and I'm overjoyed to be able to say that my labors are showing fruit.  They're getting better.  The core three – Wendy, Nibs, and Slightly – are fine, if a bit more mature than they were before.  

Since my talk with Jukes and Slightly, there have been no more open displays of affection that I or anyone else are aware of.  Robert Mullins and Billy Jukes had a talk of their own, and I must say I believe the two of them are closer now than ever before.  Billy told Mullins about Slightly, and he has apparently been more understanding than the boy hoped.  He smiles a lot now, as does Slightly, and the two are still inseparable.  

Wendy and Nibs are also close, but I have no concerns about their relationship.  They have been under much stress, having to devote so much of themselves to helping the others that they have been slow to come to grips with their own fears.  But they help one another, and I try to give them time to themselves whenever possible.  It's gotten easier now that the other children are doing better, and those two don't cling to one another as much at night.  But they still tend to sleep arm and arm with Peter, for which I am grateful.  Anything that holds that boy to reality is a godsend. 

Curly has regained full use of his vocabulary, and he is no longer afraid to speak… loudly.  His temper often flares up and he quails at the sight of blood.  He's developed a nasty habit of swearing, and I've taken to punishing him for it to break that habit.  I am relieved to find that he still has his sense of wit and laughter, he just has to get through his anger.  

Tootles no longer needs to cling to Wendy or a Lost Boy, and he doesn't mind being left alone with any of my men.  He is a patient child, and I let him do those duties that require a steady hand.  I can also depend on him to help out wherever needed without being asked.  But he has terrible nightmares, and on many nights someone has had to sit up with him to keep him calm. 

John speaks also, but it's rare and quiet when he does.  He's keenly observant, and his mind is capable of great problem solving and logic.  I'm inclined to listen to him when he voices a thought, because he won't say anything unless it's worth saying.  He'll make a superb writer one day, and he doesn't mind sitting alone with me when I critique one of his works.  Of the children, Wendy, Nibs, John, and Peter are the only ones that can stand to be alone with me for any length of time.  John is also deeply depressed, to the point that Wendy has spoken to me of her concern for her brother.  Writing is his outlet, and I encourage him as much as I can.  He is one of my favorites among the children.

Twins, thank God, finally remember English.  They'll use their special language with each other, but they communicate freely with everyone else on board.  Those two fascinate me.  They're obviously not really brothers, yet they know one another as only identical twins could.  Better, perhaps.  When one tripped two days ago and sprained his ankle, the other began limping before he even knew what had happened.  I rotate them between Mason and Jukes, the better to utilize their scientific minds and to keep them focused.  

Michael is still very much a needy baby, but it's not from the trauma.  Indeed, he's forgotten most of that day.  He's too young to have been separated from his real mother, and no matter how much Wendy pretends, she is not an adequate substitute.  It upset me greatly when I learned from John that the Darlings had run away from their parents.  I assumed all the children were orphans or cast-offs.  If I ever find England again, I'll search out their true parents.

Peter is so much better that it's miraculous.  He still occasionally loses touch, but never to the mindlessness that had consumed him before.  He mostly stays at night with the other children in the brig, but I still insist that he tether himself with a string around his ankle when he goes to bed.  The other end of the string is around Nibs's ankle, and Peter has only awakened him twice with his sleepwalking.  

The brig… I don't have a brig anymore, not really.  It's so festooned with the paintings I let them make, with hammocks and pillows and pallets tossed about, that it seems very much the children's room it has become.  It's never locked anyway.  I have tried to move them to the crew quarters, but they all ended up back in the brig that night, except Slightly, who considers himself a crewman now.  He and Jukes still sleep close together, but they've kept to my order to sleep separately.

But back to Peter.  He's very much changed.  He's still the basic boy he always was, but his confidence is gone.  He is quiet and sad, no hint of cockiness left in him.  Sometimes he sees Tinker Bell and speaks to her.  I would say it's a sign that he's not quite sane, but I've heard her voice too.  He only sees her when he's at the edge of lucidity, when something called a 'void' looms near him.  This void is the pit of numbness his mind retreats to when reality becomes too much, and he has only to say that word for me or whoever is closest to him to keep him occupied.  As long as he can maintain focus on something, keep his mind active, he can push back the oblivion.  

He resents me, and I don't blame him.  He doesn't hate me; I don't think he has the emotional energy for that.  He seems tired all the time, regardless of how much he's slept, and sometimes he falls asleep no matter what he's doing, as if he cannot stop himself.  For the most part, he takes his solace from Nibs and Wendy, and the three are inseparable at times.  Oddly, he turns to me for security, even though he remembers with perfect clarity when I killed him.  There have been a few nights when his nightmares were so bad he decided to sleep with me, and I've learned from listening to him that I'm not the villain of his dreams.  Smee dotes on him, and he's got that man wrapped around his finger, though he doesn't know or exploit it.  

It pains me to see him this way.  He assists Smee or myself, head down and completely compliant.  I miss the cocky, willful, clever, mischievous little hellion he used to be.  I killed that child, and Peter is but his shadow.  I'd cut my hand off again if it would bring him back.


	11. A Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 11

Peter stood by the railing, staring at the island.  They'd been moored by it for a couple of weeks while Mason made repairs and the men gathered supplies.  Hook had told him that when Neverland disappeared, a lot of the things they needed had disappeared off the ship, too.  Idly, Peter wondered what was on the island, if there were wild, man-eating beasts, or perhaps some fairies.  Hook had only allowed the grown-ups to go ashore, saying that they had too much work to do to baby-sit them.  

"See anything interesting?" Hook asked as he walked up behind Peter.

"Everything," Peter replied, not looking at his murderer.  That was a difficult concept, knowing that Hook had killed him.  It helped that he knew the man had changed, and had helped bring him back to sanity.  _My killer and my savior,_ he mused.  He knew Hook would never intentionally hurt him now, knew it instinctively.  He didn't understand why, but he understood so little of his whys that he didn't fret over it much anymore.  He nodded at the island, "I want to be there.  I'm sick of the ship."

"If I were to send any of you ashore, it would be to gather stores, not to play," Hook warned.  

"That would be better than salting and drying meat and making preserves.  And it would be better than mending nets and swabbing the deck," Peter countered.

Hook chuckled and put his hand on the boy's shoulder.  Peter frowned, realizing that it was the restored hand and shrugged it off.  It was too creepy.

Hook ignored the slight.  "It's nice holding a conversation with you, Peter.  Even though it was limited to threats and insults, you were the only one in Neverland I could hold an intelligent conversation with.  After the incident, your eloquence was limited to "fire hot" and "shiny"."

"And 'Hook hurt Peter'," the boy said softly.

"Actually," Hook said, chuckling a bit as he leaned on the railing next to the boy, "you called yourself Peedur.  Have you started remembering more from that time?"

"No, its still just pieces.  What was I like?  None of the others like to talk about it."

Hook took a long look at Peter, then stared out over the island.  "Well, you were happier than you are now.  Little things amused you, especially things that sparkled or were colorful.  You didn't understand us when we spoke, but if I had an edge to my voice you'd become hysterical.  You clung to Smee a lot."  He glanced to the side at a movement Peter made and saw the boy was wiping at a small smudge on his hand.  "You developed a phobia of having dirty hands.  And of the color red."   

"I always remembered seeing blood everywhere, especially on my hands.  Its not as bad now, but every once in a while its like I'm reliving it, feeling you cutting me, feeling my life flow away."  Peter shuddered and Hook put his hand on the boy's shoulder again.  This time Peter stepped closer to the man, taking comfort from the reassurance.  "It didn't hurt so much, not really… dying just shouldn't happen to a person more than once."  There was a commotion behind them, and the two glanced back to see Nibs and Curly talking and laughing.  Peter shook his head sadly.  "They don't like me anymore."

"Of course they do," Hook chided.

"Wendy and Nibs do, but the others are further away.  Michael's afraid of me.  Curly and John avoid me if they can.  Slightly's not a Lost Boy anymore…"  Peter choked back a sob on that one, feeling a flush of guilt even though he didn't know why.  "Tootles is more himself than anyone else.  Twins just stare at me like I'm a freak."

"Its been difficult for all of you.  You've changed too.  Give it more time, all of you are getting better.  Trust me, I been watching you for weeks now and I can see it."

"You've changed, too," Peter added.  He stared at the island again and lost himself in his thoughts.  "I wish this was Neverland.  If I close my eyes, I can see it.  Smokey top would be over there," he gestured, closing his eyes.  "Mermaid's lagoon there – they'd be swimming there right now, laughing and singing.  You could always see the smoke from the Indian village..."

Hook and the rest of the people on deck stared in shock while Peter spoke.  Faint shimmerings appeared around the island, and the ghostly images of what Peter described could plainly be seen.  The children felt something stir within their hearts, feeling joy and hope and faith for the first time since that terrible day.  Hook started when heard Tinker Bell's voice.

"You're doing it, Peter!  Keep trying, make us real again!"

"… and the croc always patrolled your ship in case you went ashore."  Peter paused as Tink's encouragements and a faint ticking registered in his mind.  He shook himself and the images faded away.  "I – I thought for a moment I could hear Tink," he said softly.  

"Neverland was back, Peter," Nibs said in amazement. 

"We could see it and feel it," Wendy added softly.  "The hole inside got smaller and warmer… but its gone again."  Wendy hugged herself and stepped closer.  "Peter, please," she whispered, "bring Neverland back!"

The other children took up the cry and crowded around Peter, backing him against the railing.  The boy looked at them in panic, alarmed by the desperate need in their eyes.  "I – I don't know how…"

"Try, Peter," Nibs urged.  "You can do it.  You can do anything, Peter.  You can even beat death."

Peter shook his head, knowing the others didn't understand.  A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and Hook called for the children to be silent.  "Try Peter," he told the boy.  "You were describing the island, imagining it.  Do it again."

Peter turned back and stared at the shore.  He tried to do what they wanted, to see Neverland again instead of _this_ island.  For many long minutes he tried, but nothing happened.  Growling in frustration, he spun to glare at the other children.  "I CAN'T!  Leave me alone!"  He pushed through the group and ran to the Captain's cabin, seeking privacy from their hungry, desperate eyes.  

Hook followed him, worried and needing answers to his questions.  Peter flung open the doors and saw John was inside the room, pointing Hook's pistol at his own head.  Their sudden entrance startled him and he jerked as he pulled the trigger.  As the roar of the gun faded, John crumpled to the floor.

"NO!" Peter screamed in horror and ran to his fallen friend.

Hook had heard the gunshot, everyone on the ship heard it.  He took one glance at the child lying in a pool of blood on his floor and spun around in the doorway, glaring at the men as he tried to hide his shock.  "I want all the children in the brig.  NOW!  Slightly too!  And I want the door locked!  Smee, Starkey, get in here!"

Peter sat by John and pulled the boy into his lap, cradling his head with one arm and pressing his other hand to the gushing wound on his head.  John's eyes were closed and his skin was pale, but he still drew shallow breaths.

"No, John, please," Peter cried, "You can't die."

"Let me see him," Hook ordered as he sat facing Peter.  The boy stared at him, trying to understand, but he couldn't get past the thought that John was hurt.  Hook saw the shock in Peter's face and gently pulled John to him.  Peter didn't resist, he just sat and stared at the blood covering his friend's face.

"Peter!" Hook called as he inspected the wound.  Peter jumped and blinked, some of the awareness returning to him.  "Go to the brig.  Wash your hands first, then go to the brig."  _I don't have time to help you if you relapse; please be strong._

Smee and Starkey entered the cabin.  They took one look at Hook holding John, the pistol lying nearby, the blood, and quickly went to assist the Captain.  They brought cloths and water, and helped staunch the bleeding.

Peter sat and stared, his thoughts in chaos.  Blood… blood on the floor… blood on his hand.  Unheeded, the ever present void rushed upon him.  A voice cut through the confusion, holding the void at bay.  It steadied him, and he looked up to see his oldest, dearest friend hovering before him, her body more solid than ever and her glow bright.  "Tinker Bell?" he called in wonder.

"Do what Captain Hook said.  Go to the brig, Peter," she urged him.

"Help John, Tink," Peter pleaded.

"I can't.  You're the one with the power, Peter, but if you use it again you'll hurt yourself."

"Again?" Peter frowned.  "When?"  He felt something welling up inside him, something that had been there before his world went wrong.

Tink looked at him sadly, then back at John.  Quickly and quietly, Tinker Bell explained.  As she spoke, the void fell away completely and Peter remembered.  He remembered that act of desperation, and understood how it had affected everyone on this ship.  How it had affected Neverland.

"It's my fault," Peter whispered.  "John hurt himself because of me.  I hurt everyone, its all my fault."

"It could have been done better, but you were dying.  You didn't have time to think about it, and if you'd tried to be careful, you wouldn't have had time to do it.  You'll recover, all of them will, and one day you'll find us again."

"I have to help John."

Tink nodded, "I know.  But let Hook try first.  Don't do it unless there's no choice, Peter.  You could burn yourself out forever if you aren't careful."

Peter nodded.  "I've missed you, Tink."

"I've missed you too, Peter.  But I'm always here, even if you don't see me.  And I love you."  She faded away and was gone.

"I love you too, Tink," Peter whispered.  He sat quietly and waited, absently rubbing at the blood on his hands.

**Author's note:  Don't be alarmed if you find yourself a bit confused trying to figure out what it was that Peter did.  I left the conversation between Tink and Peter vague deliberately, cause I am an evil bisatch and wanna keep you guessing…. No, actually, it'll all come out when it gets explained to Hook in the next chapters, I just only wanna have to go through it once. **


	12. Healing Body and Soul

Chapter 12

"Begorrah, Cap'n," Smee snapped in frustration, "it just won't work!  Th' shot grazed 'im, but it bit too deep.  Piece o' 'is skull's gone and th' bleedin' won't stop."  The old man gazed at the pale, bloody child and sighed.  "T'ain't nothin' more we can do fer th' lad, cept make 'im more comfortable-like."

Starkey groaned and held John tighter, unwilling to give up.  This was _his apprentice and he'd grown fond of the boy.  "I'm sorry, Captain.  I thought he was getting better.  He was speaking more to me and he was opening up to you with his stories…"  He pressed the red cloth harder to the boy's wound and shook his head.  "I should have seen this coming."_

Hook shook his head sadly.  "Aye, I thought the same as you, gentleman Starkey.  He _was recovering, they _all_ were recovering."  __I hope none of the other children try this… how do I tell young Wendy?  And Peter witnessed it… At the thought of the fragile boy, Hook turned sharply and saw Peter sitting nearby.  The boy was staring at him, a strange look on his face, his eyes glittering.  "Master Pan, I ordered you to go to the brig," he growled._

"You can't save him, can you," Peter asked calmly.

Feeling a bit of relief at the boy's rational question, Hook replied, "No.  There's too much damage.  I'm sorry."

"I can save him," Peter said, standing.  "I _will save him."_

"How?" Starkey asked sharply, afraid to hope.  

"The same way I saved myself and healed Hook."  Peter walked to stand beside John and watched his friend for a moment.  Then he turned to Hook, determined in his course, no matter the cost.  "You'll take care of them?  Of me?"

"Peter, what are you going to do?" Hook asked.

Peter sat and took John's hand in his own.  "When you cut me, I felt myself dying.  I was so scared and I panicked."  He stared at Hook, and the man was stunned by the intensity of that gaze.  "I don't understand exactly _how_ I did it, but I know _what _I did.  This is my fault and I'm going to fix it.  I'm going to fix them all."  He shook his head when Hook tried to interrupt.  "I don't have time to explain it to you.  John is dying!  I'll show him the truth, everything I know, and he'll tell you what I've done."  Peter felt the pain flare in his heart and his eyes welled up with tears.  _I hurt my friends, I used them.  It doesn't matter that I had no choice, I still hurt them. _

"Peter?" Hook called, worried.  He didn't want John to die, but if Peter was going to do something dangerous, he'd rather let John die than Peter.  John had made his choice, no matter how wrong it was.  _But Peter's making a choice too… is he rational enough to be allowed to make it?_

"Promise you'll take care of them," Peter demanded.  "I don't know what will happen to me, so promise me you'll take care of them."

"Don't do anything rash," Hook cautioned.  "I'll take care of all of you, I promise, but your friends need you."

Peter smiled a bit.  "Thank you," he whispered.  He closed his eyes, gripping John's hand tightly as he reached for the spark within himself… the spark that had been nearly extinguished not so long ago.  Touching the magic lightly, he followed its thread outside himself, finding the deep, yet far away well-spring of power.  He shuddered as he began to draw the power into himself along that link, making the spark flare up into a flame.  It burned him, quickly becoming an inferno too large for anything mortal to hope to contain, and he knew that it was hurting him.  He hadn't healed enough from the last time, and his soul couldn't tolerate this much so soon.  _It doesn't matter, _he told himself, concentrating harder.  He felt his control begin to slip as he drew more than he could hope to contain, and he knew he had to expend it now or die.

Frantically, he cast about, finding the minds of his friends, feeling the ragged holes inside them… the holes he'd ripped into them.  Once mind flickered, the one he felt the strongest contact with and he recognized it as John.  "I'm sorry," he whispered to them all as he pushed.  Pain consumed him, burning and tearing, blinding him.  He poured everything inside him, first to the flickering life that was all that remained of John, then to the nine other damaged spirits he saw.  Wendy, Nibs, Slightly, Billy, Twins, Curly, Tootles, Michael.  He'd hurt them all, but he'd make it right now.  It was almost more than he could bear, but he focused, continuing despite the pain.  Last time it had hurt worse, it had been uncontrolled and desperate and it had shattered his mind and devastated the other children.  This time he would protect them all, and he would keep control though it cost him his soul.  

And then it was gone, the spark consumed and his connection to the power broken.  He fell into darkness, numb, but he still managed a faint smile when he saw the others now glowed bright and whole, ten spirits strong.  And then he was gone.

Mullins and Billy sat outside the brig, sitting quietly with the other children.  Everyone had heard the gunshot, had heard Peter's scream.  And no one missed that two children were missing from the brig.  Wendy sat in the middle of the room, holding Michael to her tightly while whispering comforting words to the boy.  Nibs sat beside her, one hand clasped in hers.  None of the other children spoke – they were too haunted by their own fears and dark imaginations to put voice to their thoughts.  

"Did you see what happened?" Billy whispered to Mullins, staring through the bars at his friend.  Slightly was comforting Tootles, but occasionally glanced up at him, looking for reassurance.  

"No, but Smee came to the kitchen for some stuff, said that John shot himself," Mullins whispered back, making sure that none of the children heard him.

"What!" Billy squeaked.  He calmed in an instant when he saw all of the other children looking at him curiously.  "Oh, shit," he whispered back, covering his mouth with his hand.  "This is gonna kill Wendy." 

Mullins merely nodded.  "That's why we gotta keep them locked in here for now.  If the boy dies, we need to make sure they don't do nothin' rash.  They just started getting back to normal, and this happens."

Suddenly, Billy gasped.  His eyes went wide as he grasped Mullins's arm for support, his entire body rigid.  "PETER!" he screamed, the sound echoed by the other children in the brig.  

"Billy?" Mullins called in alarm.  The boy went limp, falling into the man's arms as he passed into unconsciousness.  "Billy!" Mullins called louder, looking around for help.  As his eyes passed over the bars of the brig, his breath caught in his throat.  All of the children lay silent in the room, their eyes closed as if asleep.  _What the Hell?  It's no coincidence that they all fainted at the same time… "MASON!  COOKSON!" he yelled as he bent over the dark boy, frantically checking for any sign of injury or sickness.  __He called for Pan… did that boy do this?_

Hook caught Peter as the child's body went limp and toppled over.  "Peter?" he called, lightly slapping the boy in an effort to revive him.  The boy's skin was ashen and cold, and the man felt a bolt of fear strike into his heart.  Frantically he felt for a pulse, and gave a sob of relief when he detected the faint heartbeat.

"Cap'n, what jus' happened?" Smee whispered in awe.  They had all seen the bright flare of light that had surrounded Peter and flowed into John.  They'd heard Peter scream, heard the children below echoing the cry.  Then it had abruptly disappeared.

"I don't know," Hook muttered, lifting the boy and carrying him to the bed.

Starkey blinked, trying to clear his vision of the afterimage of the glow that had surrounded the boy in his arms. Gingerly he pulled the cloth from John's head to replace it, but he paused when he beheld the boy's wound.  "Captain!" he yelled as he began prodding John's scalp, searching for the hole.  Hook knelt beside him as he parted the boy's hair to reveal an oval scar where the bullet had gouged him.  "He's healed!" Starkey gasped.  His probing fingers verified that there was bone beneath the skin.

Hook took stock of the child, then glanced up at Peter.  "The little bastard _did it_," he muttered in wonder.  Relief for John and worry for Peter sent conflicts through him.  _But at what cost to himself did he gain this miracle?_

"Lad's still too pale," Smee observed.  He pressed one of John's fingernails, noting how the bed didn't immediately turn pink again when he released it.  "Ought'a live, but he's sufferin' from bloodlack."

"Clean him up, Mr. Starkey, and put him in my bed with Peter," Hook ordered.  "Smee, go find out what happened to the other children."  While he waited, Hook poured stiff drinks for himself and Starkey.  As Starkey laid the boy beside his friend, Hook stared at their wan faces.  So pale, so fragile, both of them in nearly deathlike sleep.  _Why these two, the two children I've grown the fondest of?  Why must everything I come to care for be destroyed? _ _Great Goddess Artemis, protector of children, please watch over my boys._


End file.
